Shabbat Emor

Have you ever thought of becoming the queen or the king of England? Even if you were ambitious enough to dream about it, sooner or later you would realise that it is impossible to achieve. And that is not because, God forbid, you do not deserve it, but simply because you were not lucky enough to be born into the British royal family.

This same principle of lineage applies to the Cohanim: unless you are one of Aaron’s descendants by blood, you cannot become a Cohen. Cohen means “priest”¹. They were the group responsible for the offering of sacrifices in the Temple. They were a special group of people within the tribe of Levi. The tribe of Levi that, in contrast to the British Royal family, did not have any territory assigned to them, but rather were supported through an annual tax in 48 cities throughout Israel.²

Being an elite always carries prestige. It gives you honours and privileges. For example, the Midrash Vayikra Rabbah gives five reasons for why Aaron was called the High Priest.³ It is because he was superior in five things: in wisdom, in strength, in beauty, in wealth, and in age. How do the Rabbis know? They give a detailed explanation in the Midrash. My favourite part is the explanation of his wealth. According to the Midrash we learn that Aaron was rich from the fact that, if he was not already rich, his fellow priests made him rich. It would be nice to introduce this ancient principle to the rabbinate.  As we can see, being in an elite is quite demanding too!

Thus, it is no wonder that the first part of Parashat Emor, which we are reading this week, talks about the priests’ purity.  The purity of the priests serving in the Temple was one of the most important issues of the time.  A large number of different sects around the time of the destruction of the Temple can be explained as pointing to the people’s concern with the priests’ physical and moral purity.

Parashat Emor talks about the regulations concerning the priests’ physical purity. For example, they were allowed to touch a dead body of immediate relatives only.  A priest who has a skin disease, has touched a dead body or has had a sexual emission was considered unclean and was not able to perform his duties in the sanctuary until after sunset.

A lot of attention is paid to a priest’s appearance. Leviticus chapter 21 verse 17 commands: “No one at all who has a defect shall be qualified to offer the food of his God.” As Rashi explains in his commentary on the Parashah, this is because it is not proper if a sick or lame person approaches a governor, and thus we can conclude how much more so it applies to the servants of God. Furthermore we have a list of some physical disabilities that disqualify priests from their royal duties.  I think this can be explained by the severe aspects of a Cohen’s job – the work with animal sacrifices required mighty physical strength.

We learn from Midrash Vayikra Rabbah that the priests, or at least the Cohen Gadol, are assumed to be beautiful too. So I can feel empathy towards a person, let’s say Shimon, who was lucky enough to be born into “the family”, was excited about being the chosen one to perform such special duties on behalf of his people, and was an exemplary child studying hard and with enthusiasm. One day he fell ill with scurvy and after his recovery he had to face the bitter truth – that he will never be able to serve in the sanctuary. I feel a lot of sympathy towards Yehuda whose big boil-scar excluded this otherwise beautiful young man from approaching the altar. The rules are strict and chapter 21 verse 6 states clearly “They shall be holy to their God and not profane the name of their God; for they offer the Lord’s offering by fire, the food of their God, and so must be holy.”

This accent on the Cohanim’s physical appearance and purity is deeply interesting. There was not such an accent on their internal purity until after the destruction of the Temple. It reminds me of the obsession with physical beauty and fitness within Greco-Roman culture. I imagine those ancient Cohanim like those beautiful statues from different periods of Hellenistic and Roman culture in the Borghese Galleria in Rome. Though the Cohanim are more like hairy heroes! Contrary to Zoroastrian priests, they were not allowed to shave smooth any parts of their head, or to cut the side-growth of their beards, as we read in chapter 21 verse 5 of Parashat Emor.  Those mighty superior figures surround and overwhelm you, they look unreachably strong, beautiful, full of internal harmony and contemplative.  You admire their perfection, understanding that amongst the servants of God there is no place for imperfection. 

One might assume that after the destruction of the Temple the issue with a special separated caste within our people would cease.

However, the Cohen’s privileged status was preserved by Rabbinic Judaism too. Even though the Rabbis fixed the matrilineal lineage in Jewish law as the principle of the succession of Jewish status, the principle of the Cohen’s succession as patrilineal was not touched. I think it is because there is always a tendency in every human society to preserve power within a small group of people whether they are royal, political, business-folk or religious.

For example, the famous compiler of the Mishnah, Yehuda haNasi, inherited his title “Nasi” from his family. Jeffrey Rubenstein observes in his book The Culture of the Babylonian Talmud that “The Nasi/patriarch was not an office per se; it was the ‘property’ of the family of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, passed down from the father to son. In reality the Rabbis had no control over the office. . . .”⁴ Rubinstein also came to the conclusion that the succession in the Babylonian academies during the Geonic period was dynastic and that’s why the priestly lineage became important during that period.⁵ 

The general opposition between the elite and the common man within Israel during the Second Temple time can be represented by the sects of Sadducees, the priests, and the Pharisees, a group of people with mixed background and wealth. It’s clear that people should not be judged either by their appearance or by their belonging to a certain group, but rather by their merits. I think this idea pervades the Jewish tradition and is certainly expressed in its folklore. And the following folk-tale from Morocco supports this point:

There was once a king. He was very bored and demanded a new form of entertainment. The courtiers immediately suggested organizing for him a competition. They asked the three faith communities to send their champions to the palace for the competition. If a community fails to send its champion to the competition its future will be grim. The Imam sent Yussuf who was as big as a tree and as strong as an ox. The Archbishop sent Sir Grizzlebert because no man can wield a sword or ride a horse like him.

When the Rabbi heard the royal command he summoned all the Jews together. “We have to send a champion to the King this afternoon. Whom do you suggest?” “But, Rabbi, we don’t have any champions,” they said. “We aren’t like that – we don’t have big, strong fighters.” Suddenly a shrill voice piped up from the back of the crowd, “Let me be our champion!”  “Don’t be ridiculous, Isaac,” snapped the Rabbi. “You are old and decrepit. What use would you be?” “None,” agreed the old man, “but someone has to go, and I am a widower with no children and near the end of my life. What have I to lose but my life? Come on – you know it makes sense.”

And so it was, the same very day the three representatives gathered into the palace and the king announced: “The champion will be the one who can eat a hot chilli without yelling Ooooooooow! Or begging for water.”

Yussuf took one, crunched it – and then ran around yelling “Oooooooooow! Water, give me water! I am burning up!”

“Take him away,” commanded the King.

Sir Grizzlebert smiled in a superior way. “Give me a pepper, boy. I am tough. I can handle it.” He took a bite and then shouted, “Ooooooooow! Help! Water-give me water, for mercy’s sake!”

“Take him away!” yelled the King. “Ha, only the old Jew is left. This should be fun.”

Isaac took the chilli, bit into it, and started to sing:

And he swallowed the last bit of chilli. “The man is amazing,” declared the King. “Where others moaned and begged, he just sang a delightful song. I declare Isaac the Jew the winner!” As Isaac left the courtyard he whispered to the Rabbi, “Do you really think the King did not notice all the “ooooos” in my song?” “Who knows?” smiled the Rabbi. “But you were brilliant, Isaac. You deserve to be a hero!”⁶ Thus, I am concluding my sermon with a thought that, although not everyone can become a Cohen, everyone can become a hero.